RETURN TO A PLACE LIT BY A GLASS OF MILK

Late at night our hands stop working.

They lie open with tracks of animals

 Journeying across the fresh snow.

They need no one. Solitude surrounds them.

As they come closer, as they touch,

It is like two small streams

Which upon entering a wide river

Feel the pull of the distant sea.

The sea is a room far back in time

Lit by the headlights of a passing car.

A glass of milk glows on the table.

Only you can reach it for me now.

                                                               Charles Simic

                                          Return to a Place Lit by a Glass of Milk